


Escapism

by EIectricScarIet



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Cherik - Freeform, I'm warning you, M/M, THIS WILL BREAK YOUR HEART, gay mutants, sort of AU-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EIectricScarIet/pseuds/EIectricScarIet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A delusional Charles is suffering the consequences of losing his lover, whilst Hank watches on with guilt. Slightly AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escapism

**Author's Note:**

> A lil sumthin I did for an English assignment. I lowkey cried a lot whilst writing it because fEELS so be wary.
> 
> Should probs put a tw for mentions of a death of a loved one and depictions of depression.

Spears of golden sunlight streamed through the pristine French windows, casting a long shadow shaped like a man across the polished timber floorboards. This place was once was bustling with life and the pleasant underlying hum of laughter, conversation and the blithe peal of birds singing their melodies from the towering oaks outside. But that was before the accident. Those days were no more, and this lovely mansion that so desperately yearned for life only had two inhabitants. Or arguably, three.

"It's a wonderful day."

Silence.

"We should go for a walk. The sun is lovely."

More silence.

"Don't you think so, Erik?"

Hank turned away, feeling a slight stab of guilt for eavesdropping. The antique, Victorian wooden doors did sweet nothing to block noise, and when he heard Charles talking to himself - no, Erik - again, he couldn't help but want to listen.

As sorry as he felt for Charles, Hank found it intriguing in a detestable way as of late. Before the accident, Charles had been the smartest, most coherent person he knew. And he knew a lot of smart people. But now, one look at his sorry state and he immediately knew Charles was damaged. Unkempt, abandoned brown hair that was once so neatly kept, a certain tired slouch when he used to rival the sun itself in his manner, and his eyes that were once like twin blue stars, twinkling bright and lighting the night with a single smile. Now they were dark oceans of remorse and self-condemnation. Once upon a time, Charles was a bird soaring among the cloud and singing such a beautifully cheerful song. Now, without Erik, he was nothing.

"Hank!" 

He heard the distinct call of the man sitting behind the very door he'd just been pressed up to. With a grimace of guilt, he turned back to face the intricately carved wooden door.

"Yes, Charles?" He answered, his fingers closing around the cool metal doorknob and stilling for a moment of hesitation before he turned the knob and pushed the door open. He peered into the room, and he knew it well. Before Erik died, he and Charles used to spend lots of time together in this living room, playing chess and discussing every matter that came to mind until the early hours of the morning. It hadn't changed that much; Charles liked to keep it exactly the same as before the accident. A chandelier hung from the roof, but it was not in use as the hefty maroon curtains had been drawn back to reveal the extravagant French windows and the sun was shining brilliantly through the glass, illuminating the room fully. Charles sat in his wheelchair beside the coffee table, which held the chess board that was well worn, but still managed to maintain its endearing antique charm. Charles looked up from the board and while he was smiling, Hank could see the way his smile didn't reach his eyes which were encased by dark circles. 

"Erik would like a... ah, yes, a chamomile tea. If you could prepare that, we'd be most grateful." Charles placed his hands in his lap as he gazed up at Hank. He still managed to keep the politeness of his old self, if that was anything to celebrate. However, this went unnoticed by Hank as he uncomfortably nodded, unwilling to play out Charles's unrealistic fantasy yet even more unwilling to break the truth to him. 

"Sure... Two sugars, right?" His eyes fell to his brown leather shoes and his grip on the door handle tightened.

"You should look at people when you speak to them, Hank. Don't be shy, you've known Erik for three years now." Charles gave a soft exhale which seemed to be a chuckle, yet it was as lifeless and raspy as the whisper of a ghost. 

"Sorry. Um, I'll go make the tea." Hurriedly Hank stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a sigh. He no longer felt intrigued by Charles's sudden change. He just felt... so helpless. Too helpless to pull the poor young man out of the bottom of his bottle of scotch and out of his misery, and too helpless to do anything more than sit back and refuse to intervene in the fear that it would have an even worse outcome. Charles did have moments where he resurfaced to reality, which Hank simultaneously dreaded and was thankful for. He just prayed that one day, no matter how long it took, Charles would heal.

The kitchen was just down the hall, so Hank made it there within moments. In the silence that he'd finally gotten used to, Hank put the kettle on and pulled out the mug Erik always used to use (just to appease Charles). After dumping a chamomile teabag and two sugar cubes into it, he leaned back against the counter and waited.

His mind began to wander. In this very kitchen, around a year past, Hank had been standing in the same spot with Charles and Erik, discussing work matters. He remembered the affectionate glances between the two, and the way they spoke as if their future was one and the same. With a pang of distress, Hank realised they had their life planned together. A future that was now wasted, and lay in the grave beside Erik. Hank didn't know if Charles even saw a future for himself anymore.

Eventually the whistle of the kettle pulled Hank out of his brooding and he stirred to life. He picked up the kettle and filled the mug before putting the kettle back in its holder and stirring. He waited a few minutes in silence before deciding it was brewed enough to take back, and he carried the mug back out into the hallway.

With a gentle knock on the door, Hank pushed it open and, as swiftly as he could whilst holding a cup of scalding hot water, placed it on the coffee table. Charles thanked him with another hollow smile and turned his gaze to the mug. As Hank turned to leave, Charles murmured, "careful, darling, it's hot." 

Hank found his hand hovering over the door handle again, hesitant to leave yet hesitant to stay. "Uh... I'll leave you to it. Call for me if you need me." He mumbled as he forced himself to pull the door open and take a step out into the hallway. What he didn't expect was the choked sob that followed his words, and what sounded like a frantic and failed attempt to stand. 

"N-No, Hank, don't!" He turned back and his heart dropped into the pit at the bottom of his stomach as he saw Charles's shaking hands reaching for him. His sky blue eyes filled with anguish as quickly as they flooded over with tears, taking only a moment to start spilling down his cheeks. While Hank was shocked at this sudden change, he had seen it happen before. It still stung, as fresh as the first time it happened. He hurriedly made his way back to Charles's side and knelt down as he gripped his friend's hand. Agitated whimpers were pouring from his lips as he stared forward blankly, waterfalls of hot tears streaming down his face. Hank could only make out a few of his words; _he's gone, he left me._

"I'm here, Charles, I'm here." Hank was never the best at comforting people, least of all now when his only friend was bound to a wheelchair and suffering from his loss. He couldn't find the right words to say to put Charles at rest, for he knew the only thing that would really make his tears stop was if Erik were the one by his side.

"Erik isn't," he rasped between sobs, clenching Hank's hand tighter. "He's- he's-" Charles struggled to choke out the words.

"I know." Hank couldn't look any longer. He couldn't take seeing Charles like this, and he couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to be in his position instead of his own. "Come on, I think it's time to go sleep for a bit." He began to stand but Charles tugged on his hand to keep him kneeling.

"No, I c-can't!" His voice cracked under the weight of his agony. "I can't... Every time I close my eyes, I j-just see him! It's like a dark paradise, because he's w-with me b-but when I wake up, he isn't th-there!" He was hyperventilating as he tried to push the words out and his fingers tightened around Hank's wrist to the point of pain. 

"Breathe, Charles." Hank murmured, wincing slightly at the fingertips digging into his skin. "Slow down."

"I just... I just want to hold him again. J-Just one more time..." Charles inhaled shakily and squeezed his eyes shut, which did nothing to stem the flow of tears. "My pills. On the t-table behind me."

"Near the wall?" Hank knew the antidepressants would just numb Charles to the point of incoherence, which was an idea he wasn't fond of. But if it meant Charles would escape this pain, he was only just willing enough to provide them. He stood for a moment to retrieve the bottle and handed it to Charles. With quivering hands he opened the bottle and poured six into his hand. "Charles, that's-" Hank tried to warn him that the recommended dosage was four a day, but he wouldn't listen. He grabbed the tea and took a gulp, forcing the pills down with it and sitting back in his wheelchair. 

A few moments passed before Charles spoke. "Please stay with me, until they take effect." He met Hank's eyes and immediately his gaze dropped back to the floor. He was still crying, but he wasn't as frantic as beforehand. Now he was just devoid of anything except blank grief. 

"Of course." Hank promised, sitting down in the couch beside Charles's wheelchair and sat forward, a frown spreading onto his face as he clasped his hands. For once in his life, he didn't think the phrase 'time heals all wounds' was apt. For a bird with broken wings seldom flies ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> I WARNED YOU


End file.
